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User blog:Squibstress/Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) - Chapter 17
Title: Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; character death Published: 02/06/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Seventeen Minerva was released from St Mungo’s three days later. She was still terribly weak, but each day she felt a bit stronger, and Healer Pye sent her home with some strong vitamin potions and instructions to try to do a little more physical activity each day. She felt humiliated by her frailty; Albus had to carry her as they Flooed back to the Hogwarts infirmary, and she could not manage the walk all the way to her office to use the magical door that led to her quarters. Poppy Levitated a chair, and Albus pushed her through the halls. She was thankful that the students were in class so few were around to see her in this state. When they arrived in her quarters, she was stunned by the number of cards and floral arrangements that occupied every flat surface of her sitting room. “Albus, what is all this?” she asked. “Just expressions of concern from your students and the staff.” “But so many!” she said with genuine surprise. “Don’t you know how much the students love you?” he asked. She couldn’t answer for the sudden tears choking off her voice. Albus helped her out of the chair and held her for a few minutes as the tears fell. He then handed her a handkerchief to dry her eyes and nose and helped her onto the settee by the fireplace, sitting down next to her. “It’s nice to be home,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t imagine how much work I have waiting for me, though.” “Don’t worry, my love. Filius, Horace, Pomona, and I were able to take care of most of it between us. Your N.E.W.T. students may need to do some catching up, but other than that, I think you’ll find things more or less in order,” he told her. “Thank you, Albus,” she said quietly. He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. “I don’t want you to worry about anything for the moment. Just rest and get your strength back,” he said. She was surprised to find that he had moved several of his things into her quarters and intended to spend his nights there until she was fully recovered; they did not normally spend nights together while the students were in residence. It was during one of these nights that she found out about the blood transfusion. Neither the Healers nor Poppy had mentioned it, at Albus’s request. He felt she had enough to think about without adding a new worry into the mix. Poppy disagreed—she knew Minerva would be livid if she found out something was being kept from her—but didn’t feel entitled to object too strenuously. Minerva was itching to give her magic a workout—she had been prohibited from doing any since her illness—and had pestered both Poppy and Albus about it for days. At her daily check-up one afternoon a few days after she’d returned to Hogwarts, Poppy finally gave her blessing and spent a watchful hour with Minerva as she Levitated this and that, grinning like any first-year. “I think that’s enough for now,” Poppy said. “How do you feel now?” “Fine. Levitation is hardly strenuous,” replied Minerva. “No, not usually, but your body has been through a lot. It takes time to regain your strength, both physical and magical. You know that.” “I suppose so,” said Minerva. “In any event, thank you for indulging me today. I feel much more myself.” “Good,” said Poppy as she gathered her notes and equipment. Embracing Minerva at the door, she said, “I know you won’t pay any attention if I tell you no more magic today, but at least promise me you’ll wait until Albus is with you to try any more.” “Witch’s honour,” said Minerva, returning Poppy’s hug. “Thank you.” When Albus came through the door that evening, Minerva was smiling like a woman with a secret. “Well, it’s nice to be greeted with such a smile,” he said, kissing her quickly. “I would hope it’s the joy of seeing me, but somehow, I suspect there’s a bit more to it.” “Of course I’m glad to see you, but you’re correct, there is an additional reason for my smile this evening,” she replied. “Oh?” “Watch,” she said, withdrawing her wand from her pocket and pointing it at Albus. “Wingardium Leviosa!” His long beard rose from his chest to stick out at a ninety-degree angle. “Well! I take it Poppy gave you the go-ahead to begin using your magic again. That must feel good.” “It does.” She pointed her wand at him, saying, “Finite,” and his beard floated back down to rest against his chest. “Did you eat?” he enquired. “Yes, Quinsy brought me a tray about an hour ago,” she replied. “But I didn’t eat the pudding; I thought we could have dessert together.” “A lovely idea. Although I’ll admit that I did sample the trifle in the Great Hall this evening,” he said, taking her hand and moving toward the table with her. “No matter,” she said. “I’m sure you won’t object to an extra sweet.” “I shall force myself for you, my love,” he said. When they had finished their chocolate mousse, Minerva stood and said, “Poppy said I might try some more magic as long as you were with me.” “Are you sure you feel up to it, Minerva?” Albus asked, a slight crease of worry forming between his brows. “Indeed. I’m itching for it. You have no idea how frustrating it is not to use magic!” “All right, but don’t try too much all at once. I don’t want you to tire yourself.” Minerva took up her wand and began to Levitate various objects. When she had exhausted the possibilities on her mantel, she said, “See? No trouble at all. I’m going to move on to a few Transfigurations now. Nothing too challenging, don’t worry!” she added when she saw Albus’s look of concern. She moved toward the table and fixed her wand on the shaker of salt. With a murmured “Mutatio Poculum,” the shaker instantly became a teacup. Her smile broadening, she then changed the cup into a candleholder, the candleholder into a napkin, the book into a pillow, and finally, the pillow into a copy of War and Peace, which was, perhaps, a bit more strenuous than she should have attempted, but she couldn’t help herself. She had always liked to show off for Albus. Quickly Transfiguring the tome back into the salt shaker it had originally been, she looked up at Albus with a grin. “See? No trouble at— Albus, what’s the matter?” He had a queer look on his face, and she didn’t recognise it. “Nothing, my dear, nothing. Can you do that again? Transfigure the salt shaker?” “Of course. What do you want me to make of it?” “Anything at all.” She looked at him for another moment, trying to determine what he was thinking, then gave up, turned her wand back at the salt shaker, and said, “Mutatio Citream.” A small, potted lemon tree, ripe with fruit, sat where the shaker had been. It was a nice—no, an amazing—bit of Transfiguration, but Albus hardly noticed. Minerva looked back at him; he looked as if he had been slapped. She was alarmed and asked, “Albus, what’s the matter? You’re frightening me.” He seemed to come back to himself at that and grasped her hand reassuringly. “Nothing’s the matter, Minerva. It’s just that when you did the Transfiguration … I felt it.” “Well, of course you did. It’s a difficult spell, so you felt the magic in the air,” she said, but he cut her off. “No. I mean, I felt it … inside. In my magic,” he said, thumping himself on the chest. One could always feel strong magic when a spell passed close by, and a talented or well-trained witch or wizard could generally sense the strong magical signature of another if he or she were paying attention, but these were largely passive sensations. This had felt different. Albus had felt oddly pushed and pulled by the whisper of Minerva’s magic, felt it not on his skin or in his head, but somewhere deeper inside him—felt it within his soul, if he had one. Or perhaps in his blood. “I don’t understand,” Minerva said. “Neither do I, not completely.” Taking her hand again, he drew her toward the settee, saying, “Sit down, Minerva. I need to discuss something with you, but promise you’ll hear me out before you say anything.” Now she was frightened, and he saw it. “Don’t be worried, my sweet, it’s nothing terrible, but you may find it surprising, is all. All right?” She nodded, and he began. He told her about the desperate hours he, Poppy, and the Healers had spent while she hovered on the precipice between life and death; he told her of Poppy’s quest to find something that would help her friend and of Jean-Baptiste’s experiences with Muggle medicine. He explained about the transfusion—what he understood of it, anyway—and how they had decided to take the chance to save her life. When he finished, she was quiet. “So I have your blood in me.” “Yes.” “You used Dark Magic to save my life?” “No!” he said too loudly. “Not Dark. Yes, I know blood is usually only used in Dark rituals, but this wasn’t a ritual, and there was no magic involved, except my love and desire to see you well again.” “Albus—” she began, but he cut her off again. “I believe, I firmly believe, Minerva, that intent matters when determining if a spell is Dark or Light. My intent—our intent—was only to help you.” “But what about the spells people have used to try to bring back the dead?” she asked, her voice rising slightly in her apprehension. “Surely the intent is benign, but the results are terribly, terribly Dark. What have you done?” This last was more of a wail than an actual question. “It isn’t the same!” he cried. “You weren’t dead—we weren’t trying to cheat Death or reanimate someone who had passed beyond the veil—we were only trying to prevent it. Just like any other form of medicine.” She turned away, and he pressed on: “Minerva, please listen: transfusion has been used in Muggle medicine for almost a hundred years, according to Poppy. It’s worked miracles for them, and the only reason we haven’t used it is because of silly prejudice.” “No,” she said forcefully, turning back to face him. “Muggles don’t have magic; of course exchanging blood has no magical effect on them. Our magic is intimately connected to our blood, Albus. You know that.” “Yes, but we don’t fully understand how, do we? Who’s to say if exchanging blood between magical beings is bad, good, or indifferent? In this case, it saved your life, so I cannot believe it was a bad thing. It was risky, I know that, but I took the risk because I couldn’t bear to lose you, whatever the effects. Please understand that, Minerva. Please.” The tears that stood in his eyes were matched by her own. “I know that, Albus. I do. I just don’t know what to think … how to feel about it.” “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t consult you before doing it. I understand that you might feel … violated.” “No, it isn’t that,” she said, reaching for his hands. “I know that whatever you did, you did for me. I’m just concerned, I suppose, about what it means … what effect it will have.” “I think, my love, that we may just have discovered one of the side-effects.” “You feeling my magic.” “Yes. I think, perhaps, the exchange of blood bound us in some way. More than we had been before. Bound our magic.” “It’s strange that the effect should be on you, though, isn’t it?” she asked. “We don’t know that it is only on me,” he replied. “I didn’t feel anything, or didn’t notice anything, when you cast the Levitation charms. That’s among the simplest of spells and doesn’t require much magical energy. It was only when you began doing Transfigurations that I felt something, and it was strongest when you Transfigured the lemon tree. That was a fairly advanced bit of magic. You haven’t felt anything over the past few days? Anything unusual in your magic” he asked. “No, I’ve noticed nothing.” “I haven’t cast any particularly advanced spells recently, at least, not when I’ve been close to you. It may be that proximity makes a difference.” He stood, withdrew his wand from his pocket, and went over to the table where the lemon tree still sat. “May I?” he asked, indicating the tree. “Please,” she answered, moving to stand next to him. He fixed his wand on the tree and, without uttering any incantation at all, Transfigured it into a blue budgerigar in an ornate brass cage. When he turned to Minerva, her eyes were wide. “Did you feel that?” “Yes,” she whispered. “It was … it was like ice and fire, both together, running through my magic.” “I’m sorry. I should have used a simpler spell. I didn’t mean to hurt you …” “No, it didn’t hurt at all. It was just odd. Try something easier now. I want to see how that feels.” He changed the platter on which their dessert had been served into a stack of parchment. “How was that?” he asked. “Not as strong, definitely, but still there. Levitate it,” she ordered. He did so and looked at her. “Nothing,” she said. “Most intriguing,” he said. “But I think that’s enough for tonight. I don’t want to tire you. We can investigate this phenomenon further later. At the moment, I don’t think it’s anything we need worry about. It seems benign.” “But what if there are other effects?” she said. “Then we’ll worry about them when they arise. But now,” he said putting his hands on her shoulders and steering her toward the bedroom, “rest.” She allowed him to manoeuvre her into her bedroom and took herself into the bathroom to clean her teeth and get ready for bed. Albus sat on the edge of the bed with a weary sigh and bent to remove his boots. He was relieved that she now knew about the transfusion—he had been dreading telling her and hadn’t quite worked out how to bring it up—and that the only effect thus far seemed harmless. Of course, as she had said, they might discover further effects later, but he hadn’t the energy to worry about it at the moment. For now, the fact that Minerva was alive and getting stronger was enough. When she emerged from the bathroom, he stood to take his turn, and as he passed her, she stopped him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “I didn’t ever thank you,” she whispered. “For what?” “For saving my life.” “I didn’t. That was Poppy and the others,” he said. “But you made the decision. You gave me your blood.” He told her softly, “I would give you my life, you know that.” “I know,” she said, and pulled him down to kiss him. When they broke, she said, “I love you.” “And I love you.” She released him then, and later, when they were both settled in her bed, she thought about the blood-bond that had apparently been created between them and wondered if either of them would ever have cause to regret it. ← Back to Chapter 16 On to Chapter 18 → Category:Chapters of Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967)